White wedding: I have a dream

TALL, blond and graceful, Cheryl Lee Terry looks more like an Ivory soap model than someone who reads palms and numerology charts.

Ms. Terry, who is 46, writes the numerology column for Elle magazine and counsels thousands of private clients, ranging from F.B.I. agents looking for criminals, to politicians, playwrights and scientists wondering about their love lives. She also advises couples wishing to set an auspicious wedding date.

"When John Avedon got married to Maura Moynihan, I spent two hours on the phone with John, choosing the date," she said. "You want to make sure there's no war breaking out that day, no negative numbers."

Ms. Terry's own love life was mapped out years ago during a consultation with the numerologist Florence Meschner. Madly in love at the time, Ms. Terry had asked if she would soon become engaged. She was told instead that she would meet her true soul mate, a tall foreigner, "later in life."

The prediction turned out to be eerily accurate. When she was 40, a friend introduced her to Gerard Potier, a 6-foot-4 French businessman.

On Feb. 13, they were married at Park City's Baptist Church in Dallas, the bride's hometown. "It was destiny," said Mr. Potier, 49, who is soft-spoken and accustomed to making predictions of an economic sort. He is the co-owner of B & H/Potier Partners, a shipping brokerage and consulting company in New York.

The reception took place on Feb. 19 in Vivian and Nathan Serota's art-filled and gardenia-scented apartment on Park Avenue. (The bride calls Mrs. Serota her New York Auntie Mame.) In the entryway, a white marble sculpture of a headless torso, by Igor Mitoraj, sat next to a painting by Miro.

"It was like a wedding reception in the Matisse exhibit," Pamela Keogh, an editor at Us magazine, who had been a guest, said a few days afterward. "Only it was easier to get in, and there were hot hors d'oeuvres."

The eclectic mix of guests included Regis Pagniez, the publications director of Elle; Antoine Bernheim, a money manager, and Steve Marcus, a cartoonist whose work -- he described it as "one-liners about the slacker generation" -- regularly appears on MTV.

A few guests were loyal clients of the bride's, like Holly Millea, a senior editor at Premier magazine, who said: "I've broken up with guys because she said, 'This isn't going to last, and it's just a way for you to kill the time.' So I think, if I'm going to kill time, I'd rather be working out in the gym."

At the reception, Ms. Terry wore a silk, Grace Kelly-esque gown loaned by VanLear Bridals Inc. of New York. Her original gown, also a VanLear, had been shipped from Texas but was lost in transit. "I should have known," she said. "Mercury went into retrograde today."

The dinner of filet mignon and salmon was catered by Penny Glazier, who opened Bridgewaters, a special-events company on Fulton Street, only after a consultation with Ms. Terry.

After dinner, as the newlyweds cut the Sylvia Weinstock wedding cake, they blushed like teen-agers on a great date.

A few days earlier, the bride had said: "Sometimes I look at people's charts and say, 'It's going to come late for you,' and they say, 'But I'll be over 40 years old.' I have to tell them, 'That is absolutely the best time to fall in love!' "

Cheryl Lee Quote of the Week

”So oftentimes it happens, we all live our life in chains, and we never even know we have the key.” — The Eagles, “Already Gone”

Just thought I would throw this one out there for anyone in need of an end of day slice of heavenly inspiration...

The question of L.O.V.E

Dear babe,

Around the holidays, one tends to think about one's loved ones. I have shown my picture of my beloved pup Sammy (RIP) to counting, three people today...and the day is not yet done! In addition, I have found myself engaged in an emotional battle of the heart on none other than gchat. Better yet, my own flesh and blood mother won't return my phone calls because I have historically viewed her as our modern day Santa Claus and begged like a true middle child for more presents. "Is a bed not enough?" she asks me. To which I respond, "mother, please!" and proceed to cry in the middle of the work place about all the things I need because I am too much of a stingy Jew to buy them myself. I think she is starting to think that yoga is making me more selfish. SNORTY SNORT SNORT SNORT i say to that!

Anywho, dear denn, love is really very complicated (or as my new paramour says about EVERYTHING, "it's really intense and complicated.") Megan Marion and I were discussing this subject and thought hey! let's get to the bottom of this crazy little thing called love.

Now all we need is a forum for this discussion, a few avid listeners, and romantic experience. Megan, you bring the ice cream, I'll bring the window to the soul. Den, just be there to listen.

Love ALWAYS,

your girl

It's official: i have been invited to my "company" holiday xmas party!!!

Dear Den,
Christmas time is coming, and the Chelsea gays could not be happier.
Walking down the street yesterday, me and a fellow pedestrian stopped
to enjoy the same display of handcuffs, topless fire men calendars,
porn and tinsel. He turned to me and smiled, saying “It’s really
beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.” When I walked into Lew’s
apartment, Christmas carols were playing, 117 red and green candles
were ablaze, and where there wasn’t a wreath there were garlands. I
was alarmed about the possibility of a gay fire, but he assured me
that all the candles were more than 1cm from anything flammable. Cozy
with flannel throws and a bottle of wine, we debated between “17
Again” and “My Best Friend’s Girl”, deciding on the latter which we
realized we had both seen on minute in so opted for smoking cigarettes
and talking about gingerbread houses. In the xmas spirit, Claire (who
really is actually Jewish, maybe??) and I have started our first
annual Christmas list. And so it begins:

Spiritual reading from Susan Miller
Spiritual reading from Cheryl Lee Terry
Tickets to the premier of Nine
The war to be over if it’s still happening
Anything related to John Mayer- CD’s, magazine, signed posters, ANYTHING
Functioning heat
A pug for Stella to play with
A French Bulldog for my pug to play with
Xanax
non alcoholic or functioning alcoholic bf
a desk

Precious, Part V

Precious update, as the details unfold:

At the Tim Burton $5000 a plate dinner. What I wouldn’t give to hear a convo between Prec and TB, on his big night.
Adam and Lew approach her, in ALL her purple taffeta glory. So much gay and so many bowties and sooo much taffeta in one conversation. Again, what I wouldn’t give to be in Prec’s head as the two ‘mos rattled off about how much they loved her and her movie. Adam also lies to (LIES TO!) Precious, telling her Lewie and he had gone to see the movie in Harlem. I mean, the day that Lew steps black patent leather penny loafer into Harlem is the day I stop dating alcoholics. I wish she would come to family dinner on Sunday nights, except Jules would probably slip up and call Stella Precious in front of human Precious.

Denny, see you in Jersey!
Xx,
mm

EMERGENCY POST!!!!!!!!!

PRECIOUS SIGHTING!

MOMA.

PURPLE GOWN.

LEWIE.

MENTION OF HARLEM (BY LEWIE).

FAILURE TO BEAR HUG (LEWIE).

LOTS TO LOVE (PRECIOUS)

Denny, my Keats

Dear Denny,

“Bright Star” is about romance, and not the kind of romance I had with the California surfer-cum-documentary filmmaker le weekend passé. It is about the truest love that existed in 19th century England or probably ever ): the love between John Keats and his sassy, seamstress girl Fanny. I have never tried to kill myself because a boyfriend didn’t correspond with me because he was away on his summer rental with his bff, nor have I made my brother and sister fill the room with butterflies (dead or alive) to remind myself of my love. I am therefore convinced that I have never experience love at all and I will not settle until I find my own androgynous and tortured writer. It actually may not be that hard. Anyone who has seen this movie and not wept about it for hours, even days, I am totally convinced doesn’t have a feelings or even a soul. It makes me want to write poetry about my love for you, Den, but I know John Keats would say that women can’t write and I would probably agree.

Love,
Your Bright Star
Megan Marion

Precious Part II

Claire my precious is the new writer and, as per your request ML, I will formally introduce her (to you).

Like the real Precious, Claire grew up in NYC. In fact, not so far from Precious’ home in Harlem, Claire spent her formative years in the Upper West Side. Unlike the real Precious, Claire is skinny and without her father's children.

At 18, Claire moved to Middletown, CT to study at Wesleyan University, “majoring in boys.” Perhaps you remember, Denny, when Claire was convinced that you were in love with her? Well, I remember meeting Claire. She wanted to stab me in my face. Now we are neighbors and both love TV.

Cheryl Lee Terry, my heart and soul!

Perhaps we should all consider the advice of Thomas Crum: “Instead of seeing the rug being pulled from under us, we can learn to dance on a shifting carpet.”

Dearest Denny Wenny,

Since I am now obsessed with the blogosphere, I thought I would share with you someone else out there who inhabits the cyberspace as well as my heartspace. Her name is Cheryl Lee Terry and you may have heard me talk about her every Monday of every week. She included the complicated and wondrous quote above in this weeks reading. She likes Leonard Cohen (so do I!), she tells me what days are just NOT going to be MY days, she inspires me with heartfelt lines from an array of influential individuals, sometimes Mr. Cohen himself, other times, poetic women such as Maya Angelou. And if you're feeling particularly in the mood for a challenge, she may even throw in a Zen koan to get your mind buzzing.

And Denny, let me just say that when you are truly in the dumps, when the rolling credits of FNL or HIMYM come up, when you text every person in your phone and they ALL ignore you, when you take that last bite of brownie and know that you just want more but can't have any more, just turn on your computer, search the site for your weekly Leo reading, and Cheryl Lee will guide you to the light.

Oh and did I forget that her motto is "Be the Change."??? I'm currently trying to decide the appropriate place to tattoo those words of wisdom onto my body. Perhaps on my heart?

Sin"cheryl-lee,"

your bestie

Just One of the Gang!

Dear Denny,

This first post goes out to you, babe! Last night, after a crazy black out night after two glasses of red wine with my dad and brother in "Soho," I rushed home and lit a candle, tucked myself into bed, put the US Weekly next to my pillow, and turned on my favorite night time companion: HIMYM!

Let's just put it this way: I laughed, I cried, I texted you, you didn't respond, I laughed some more, I texted you again, I smiled with my eyes....you get the point. Now, some may think that having a date with the gang from How I Met Your Mother on a Thursday night is somewhat oh-i-don't-know pathetic. Others may be reminded that the last time I dedicated this kind of time and love to a friendly gang on screen was when I was depressed and hiding a bar here and a bar there of my favorite kind of chocolate next to my bed. Ah Felicity and Ben Covington, you guys really got me through a hard time and forever I will be reminded of you when I wake up with chocolate on my pillow and a bellyache!!

Anyway, back on track. Denny, last night when Barney and Ted were being best pals and really supporting each other by drinking, high-fiving, sitting in their booth, and flirting with dumb skanks, I was reminded of our friendship. Remember just the other night on Halloween, when we tried to flirt with the guy in the white t-shirt? We asked him innocently "what are you supposed to be"? Only to have him and his friend look at us and laugh hysterically and then turn their backs? Remember that Den? Well good thing we have each other! Dennis "legendary" Jones and Claire "says I love you on the first date" Typaldos!

Oh man, it's nice to be part of the gang!

Fondly,

Saint Clarice!

Even the poster gets me

Dear Den,

Today is a very big day for large black women and those of us that celebrate them. Second ONLY to the Maryl Streep/ Alec Baldwin romcom coming out in December, Precious is my most anticipated movie of the fall.

“Life is hard. Life is short. Life is painful. Life is rich. Life is....Precious.” Precious is an overweigh teen from Harlem. I normally am not totally into fat people, but when they are overcoming huge emotional and societal obstacles I can’t help but sympathize.

In another world- Texas, I think- “a poor, oversized and under-educated teenager” is taken in by Sandra Bullock’s family. I have seen the preview three times, and I still cry when I see how the poor, oversized and under-educated teenager tells Sandra Bullock that he has never had a bed before. Since “The Proposal” I have decided that SB is the best actress maybe ever and I am certain this movie is going to earn her a well deserved nomination.

Denny, I cannot wait!

mm

Spooky pudding for LUCAS the genius

Mon Cherie,

Quel ete, non? Since I last wrote, I’ve become a temporary employee at some of New York’s finest financial institutions and media groups/a babysitter/a freelance writer (okay, heavy on the middle title). Though my written correspondence has been tenuous, I’ll remind you that I have been in good touch over the phone and just saw you a few weeks ago. You came to New York and we raised a glass for the future Kelley Kelly and then drank un peu trop and ate un peu plus trop and what happened at the end of the night shall stay buried in the most secretest of secret treasure boxes, forever and ever to be sealed. JKJK! DENI, remember that we had a totally private Mexican fiesta of fish tacos and I pocket dialed my dad's cell phone and he was privy to 20 minute of pretty darn private conversation and then just you and I listened to podcasts till 3AM and then had a slumber party!! It was so spesh!!

I have to make this super brief because I am temping today and I keep trying to write this and then keep almost getting busted. WORST. TEMP. EVER. Which is weird, because I have so much experience temping in like 4 different cities. Okay, so really quickly-- I totally understand that girls dress sluttily for Halloween and I've done it one million times and my more mature younger sister just admitted to me that she was "slutty cotton candy" a few years back so obviously every girl does it, blah blah blah. What I don't understand is how girls can wear these costumes to work. We are having an office wide Halloween party in 30 minutes and all these girls are gathering around and there are a bunch of slutty police women, a slutty fire woman and like so much more and it just looks totally weird in the office, no?? And, there are not cute boys around to even impress so I just don't get it.
Oh, Denny, I can't wait to see you this weekend!!

Perdu sans toi,
Julia Andrus Kelly

PS- I am in charge of the telepone switch board and I really wanna grow out my nails longer because its so fun to type in someone's phone extension and then hit TRANSFER if you have big clunky nails!! This temp is going all the way, yo.

CLAIRE, THANK YOU

Its a trilamb party!

Mon cheri,

Holy vache! I've just heard the most spectacular news! We're having a slumber party tomorrow night?! Thank goodness I found out at this early hour, as there are considerable preparations to be made. TO DO:

MEGAN:
Get materials for friendship bracelets
Buy the game Girl Talk
Figure out how we can make s'mores in our apartment and procure the makings

ME:
Rent Jacob's ladder
Compile mixed CD with Regina and Rent and that song "I don't want, anybody else, when I think about you, etc, etc."

Oh, Den, I went through this magic phase in Morocco, in which I really wanted to be proficient in the craft or art or whatever it is, or at least learn a few party tricks. Well, on this Thursday, the eve of your coming, I feel re-inspired to perform, bewilder and dazzle the senses of my awe-struck audience (Meggie and Denny, that's you). So, be prepared, young children, for an evening of intrigue, marshmallows and singing our hearts out. It shall be!


Waiting with baited breath,
TUTU Fantasia, enchantress extraordinaire

Social butterflies

Dear Den,

I’m so sorry to hear of your troubles en Allemagne and please let me know if I can do anything to lift your spirits. Commiserate with your pain, I can do. When I was in the 7th grade, I too, was socially ostracized and my mother was forced to sing my sobbing-self to sleep every night for a year. J'exagere pas. Fortunately, I became homecoming queen a few years later – the peak of my popularity thus far – and now, I suppose I fall somewhere just below average in terms of the social spectrum. Some might say I “peaked” in high school and I’d morosely agree. Anyway, chin up, you…If you follow my trajectory, in a few years you just might be riding around in a horse drawn carriage surrounded by scores of praising minions at the Yale-Harvard homecoming match. Game. Whatever the football one is.

Speaking of social behavior, this summer has been an interesting experiment in mixing social circles. I’ve been introduced to Megan’s Wesleyan crowd and she’s taken a dip into the Trinity pool. Just last week, she willingly made the rounds at the ultimate Trinity bar, which shall remain unnamed but rhymes with Bart and Eddies. She was a real hit (preppy dudes are totally bewildered my Mimi and her “alternative” style - who IS this girl with SHORT and BROWN hair they wonder).

A few days later, Megs mentioned that her friends were making a music video down the block from our apartment and needed a few extra girls to participate. Well, I thought, I love attention and I love dance parties, so why the heck not. Call time was 7am, Denny, and I showed up to location – a public park - bright eyed and bushy tailed. Whistling to myself, I entered into a tent full of naked girls who were in the process of being smothered with bright pink body paint. My whistling ceased and I tried my best to backtrack slooooowly out of the tent without anyone noticing but was immediately caught by Megan’s friend, who was a body painter for the day. “Julia! I can’t believe you came! Thank you,” she exclaimed.

“Wow, I can’t believe I came either…So, this is what’s happening?” I inquired, hoping that perhaps my role in the video was of a different, more clothed and less ho-ish nature, then the flock of girls around me. No such luck. I proceeded to strip buck naked, allow two girls to slop pink paint all over my body (yes, I mean all over), put on a fur bikini and feathered head piece and carry around a cage of hipster boys singing electro-pop for 6 hours. I left feeling very sunburned and itchy (body paint is so scratchy, Denny!) but with a slight feeling of accomplishment that I had left my comfort zone and perhaps became popular among a new group. Well, truth be told, none of the girls really liked me, but hey, c’est la vie, mon cherie.

What doesn’t kill you…

TUTU

The Up and Up

Having begun my career as a temp yesterday, I am really convinced my life is taking a turn for the better. I was certain going in that the Free Masons were a secret society/ cult, and was sorely disappointed when I found no evidence of this. My mission tomorrow is to figure out exactly what it is they do, but this is what I did today:
Drank a cup of coffee
Drank a Diet Coke
Chewed half a pack of gum
Wrote an extensive to do list
Crossed off the things that I had already done
Read four newspapers
Wrote down highlights of each one
listened to Rose tell me about her last ten cats (all of them strays that just showed up at her door!), including names and characteristics. One was named Psycho.
Played who would I date in the office. Decided on the guy who changed the water cooler around four.
Wore heels.
Listened to Rose's commute. It is really long and complicated and about to get worse when her 2nd train changes from express to local.
Did four crossword puzzles. Completed zero crossword puzzles.
Ate in the park. Tanned. Nobody in the office noticed I was more bronzed in the PM than in the AM.
Picked a random person off of the phone list. Sent all calls that I didn't know what to do with to him.
Greg- who goes by the name Grand Master to everyone in the office- told me the scientific reason why girls are always cold and men are not. Until menopause, which his wife is currently suffering from BIG TIME.
Listened to Rose gossip about everyone in the office. Everyone in the office is over 60. I tried to play if each person were a character on Gossip Girl but I got sleepy.
Made note to follow Antonio Cromartie on Twitter to witness first hand his interchange of the letter "c" with the letter "k." Came home and twittered him. Crossed it off my to do list.

Another one bites the dust

Dear Diary,

You know the saying "Fool me once, shame on you! Fool me twice, shame on me!" Well, I was sort of wondering what happens after the twice thing, when the THIRD boy has lied to me about what state (is that capitalized to indicate neither the physical nor the mental?) he was in.

Case #1: Me, played by my sister, the actress. Boyfriend played by Jesus look alike. Except with many tattoos.
"Hey boyfriend, where are you going"
"To visit my dad, Megan. Stop talking so much."
Next day. "Hey boyfriend's dad. Sorry to bother you! Just wondering if bf made it up, as his phone is off. No? He is not there? Check downstairs, I know he is! No? Ok weird." Six hours of utter panic later, BF #1 is located. In upstate California with his ex.........

Case #2: Me, played again by my sister. Boyfriend TBD
"Hey ----, thank you so much for flying allllll this way to meet my family and friends in MN. It really is nice to have you THE FIRST BOY TO EVER COME TO MN, and I will do everything to make you happy here."
"I'm not. I want to go back to the unnamed N. African country where I came from. I haven't had a cigarette in three days and that, combined with all of the freakishly friendly Minnesotans, is seriously making me want to die."
MEGAN: "Ok, go back to Morocco but my life totally sucks and this is super embarrassing."
BF 2: "Right? I would be super humiliated too. But my going back to Morocco (oops) is the only thing that will save our relationship."
Oh, by Morocco, you also meant Northern California, and by our relationship, you meant you wanted to save your relationship with your other American Girlfriend. Got it. I guess those are just the cultural differences in dating a french guy!

and finally, the most recent:
Case #3: Me, played by my sister. Friend, played by little Jenny. New Boy, played by Zach or Cody.
TEXT from boy that I have been dating for a few weeks: "Hey can't see you. Shit to do. Leaving town to go to my ridiculously fucking WASP douche filled CT town where all my friends have so much money they don't need to work or do anything but talk about money and tits."
Me, in a text: "Cool, have fun. TTYL."
but that's the weird thing.. I never TTYL'ed again with him!
Me: Call, text, text, call "where are you?"
Him:
Friend, who set us up but is excused from all responsibility as I should have known better when he blacked out on the first date: "Hey I thought you were in CT."
Him: Oh, I am.
Friend: But that's totally not possible, you were just with my boyfriend in the city ten minutes ago getting wasted."


And so, my few faithful readers, is the three scene story of how boys that I date seem to think that the little lies are not enough. Why lie about just being tired and wanting to go home, when you could say you urgently need to go to another State.

Three times is a charm,
Love,
Megan Marion

I am starting a new section

I am starting a new section on the blog. It is called "today in unemployment."

Yesterday, in unemployment, I decided to color coordinate my jewelry with my hot pink nail polish by painting it hot pink.

Today, in unemployment, Kelley dressed me up and I styled my hair to make me look like Robert Pattinson.


Love,
Megan Marion

Don't even read this appaling entry

DENIS,

There has been an unfathomable outbreak of bugs in my room that is colossal in number. Just thinking about this situation makes my stomach turn and vomit begin to tickle my throat. Here are the facts:

1. Two weeks ago, I saw a few little black bugs flitting here and there about my room, though I barely took notice as we had just moved in and were dealing with much larger issues.

2. A week and half ago, I woke up and noticed that these little shithead critters were actually scattered throughout my floor. And, oh look! There was one on my bed!
And on my book shelf! I slowly inspected the room and was eventually led to my large windowsill. At this moment, my life changed forever. I see that there are about 100 bugs scattered throughout the large windowsill. Some are ugly baby bugs that are running around like chickens without heads, some are repulsive teenage bugs that are stupidly flirting with other disgusting promiscuous teenage bugs (and believe me when I say these girls are FAR FROM CHASTE), some are adult bugs that are just basking in the sunlight and some are bug corpses that have evidently met their death on one of my favorite books or with heads bowed silently against my new perfume. SICK.

3. Exterminator comes and says that there is no way any insect will survive after the number he did on our place. Phewfta. NOT.

4. Four days ago, after I washed everything I own, moved all of my things back into the room, and vomited one million times, I noticed that a few bugs were back.
Exterminator tells me not to be a baby and that those were just the last survivors and "everything is fine."

5. Yesterday, I find dozens more chilling on what once was my windowsill and is now just a vast terrain of smushed bugs and live ones rolling around. SICK SICK SICK.

6. My landlord came today after I called 10 times to inspect the situation. He brings his own extermination kit. Together, we find about 100 other buggies living in the creaks of my windows. He tells me "everything is fine" and I begin to cry hysterically. You know how a baby can go from being totally fine to, like, wailing crying in 10 seconds flat? That is exactly what I did.

7. Landlord becomes extremely uncomfortable and says "ahh, you are pretty...bye," and runs out of our apartment faster then a teenage bug procreates with another one in the vile, vomitous, revolting space formally known as my bedroom.

I am moving back to Minnesota.

Julia

Make new friends, but keep the old, some are silver and the others are amazing extermanators.

Well Denny, I am sorry again for not making my day visit to the Haven this weekend. If I had known then what I know now (ie that I wouldn't find a boyfriend and there would be a infestation of carpet beetles in my apartment), I would have been on the fast Metro-North to ghetto-ville.

Yes, there has been a bug infestation in our apartment. And the exterminator is here. And he is a talker. In fact, he is talking our faces off as I pretend to be involved in very important iBookG4 matters..

"I am more than an exterminator, I am a friend. I am your friend, you are my friend, we are friends."

"I wake up every morning and I can't wait to go to work. I love it, I just love it."

"I get to see new assholes every day, not the same."

"There are hundreds of different kinds of ants. Fire ants, harvest ants, red ants, stinging ants, hot ants, Florida ants, carpet ants, army ants. I can name a lot more."

"I am not looking to make a million dollars a month or a million dollars a year. I am not lookin for nothing in life."

He just left. Then came back in to tell us that he is always the most popular guy at a BBQ (I love BBQs and I love popular friends, I just knew this would work out!) because people always want to hear his stories. He left us with this:

"People always give me bugs to look at. Once, this woman brings me a bug and asks me what it is and I look at it and I tell her 'Woman, this is a booger. A booger.' I got lots of stories like that."

God Bless,
Megan Marion